


Point of No Return

by marippe



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marippe/pseuds/marippe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hikari finally conquers that voice in her head and gives in to having a physical relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point of No Return

I drew my hand back and slapped him, as hard as I could, but even that was not hard enough. And then Will did the most curious thing. He grabbed my chin, and kissed me, and I positively seethed with rage. How dare he? First paralyzing me, and now this! But there was something different about this kiss. His energy matched mine, even though he was not angry like I was, and I hated him and loved him all at once.

I pulled away, lifted my hand to strike him again, but his hand was around my wrist, and he was pulling me in, and I hated him, I hated him, until he kissed me again, and the rage bundled up in my stomach began to throb as something else.

"Bastard," I hissed. "Do not /ever/ do that to me again." I wanted the anger to stay. With the anger, I was strong. He had taught me the power of it, it was his own fault if he was on the wrong side of it now!

"Or you will what, my dear? Do not make demands you've no way of backing up."

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hit him, and scream, how dare he treat me this way, like some toy for his amusement, like my reactions were all just one big joke just for him. I wanted to tear the mask from his face and make him face me like that.

Instead, I was kissing him back, with all the fire and the rage I could muster. It was the anger that drove me, that kept me from shying away when he pulled me to him with an arm around my waist. He released the wrist he had been holding. I grabbed his face with both hands, and I could feel the smirk as I kissed him harder. He knew he had won.

He spun me around, in time to a song I could not hear, and towards the stairs. I didn't resist. I was thinking of lyrics, and how they suddenly made sense, and for once, not about what was happening, or what it meant or didn't mean. There was a song playing in my head, and I wondered if it was the same one he'd spun me to.

We were in front of his bedroom door.

"The final threshold, it would seem," he said with a knowing smirk, and of course it had been the same song.

Always, in those sweet moments holding hands after dinner, we would hum one song. It had become our theme, something of an inside joke even though the meaning to us was anything but trite. But then there was another song, and it was the one humming in my head now. Never before had I seen seduction and passion for what they could be. I had sung the words without knowing what they meant.

And I couldn't help it, even though it was silly. "Anywhere you go, let me go, too," I replied, and he swept me into the room, and I tried so hard to let myself go, to fight the fear trying to lodge in my throat.

When I was angry, I wasn't scared, and I nearly wanted it back, because suddenly this was so much, to realize we were sitting on Will's bed, and his arms were around me, and we were kissing, and we were going to do more. We were going to do more, weren't we? We had talked about it once, the fear I had of losing myself, of being out of control. It had been hypothetical, a question of "if", not "when", but suddenly then when was now and I was fighting not to run from it.

"You have to conquer that voice, Hikari," he said.

That was easier said than done, and I wanted to snap at him, that not everyone was so perfect, that the duality of human nature confused me, how I could want this, and not want it. The irritation returned. Oh, how easy to be Will, the master of minds, and not a confused young woman who had never felt desire before. "I know that!" I practically snarled.

"Good." He pushed me back, trying to make me lie down on the bed, but I resisted. I pushed him instead, perhaps more violently than I meant to, but suddenly, I was powerful, and damn it, I would be in control, I would be in control of the both of us if I had to. He would do this my way.

He was smirking, and I felt the rage that I had downstairs, that urge to wipe the smile off his face. I sat on him, legs astride, to hold him to the bed. My pulse was thudding in my ears, and I could feel the heat coursing in my veins, the anger, and the excitement. This was exciting, the fight, and the win, but I had not really won, because he was still, /still/, smirking.

I tore at his shirt, not caring when a couple of the buttons popped, and he was laughing, but I had to tune it out, because if I didn't, I would lose the moment. It occurred to me that I had no idea how to do this, and yet somehow I did. Hormones, instinct, the logical part of my mind said, explaining the larger part that for now just wanted the logic side to shut the fuck up.

I pressed my mouth against him, kissed him to make him stop laughing. he reached up to touch my shoulders, my neck, my cheeks, and I shivered. I wanted more. I wanted more? Yes.

I pulled his shirt open the rest of the way, running my hand down his bare chest, and admiring the difference in structure. My own chest, so soft, and my breasts that I would rather have ignored, and his, so flat, so masculine. I'd never thought about it before, that in the most basic terms, no, we were not all that different, but now I realized that we were. I could see the inherent maleness in a way that had never crossed my mind, and suddenly I was appreciating all of it, the strength in his body that was more obvious than in mine, the thickness of his neck and the rise of his Adam's apple, the width of his shoulders while mine were so tiny. I could smell him, cologne, and grease from dinner, and shampoo, and something.../other/.

I squirmed, and then I felt a surge of blood to my face when I realized just what that rise beneath me was. /Oh./ Right. That was there, too.

I had frozen, and found myself staring at a point on the comforter next to his head, trying not to think. Trying to drive every word, every image from my mind.

"Well, don't stop now, you had such a good start."

But I had to stop, because it had struck me dumb, the fact that he had a penis, and it was right underneath me, and it was hard, and that was because of me. I had never been a sexual being. I had never been someone who anyone thought of like that. I had never wanted to be, but in that moment something snapped. Something changed in my head. We were here, at the moment where words ran dry. He wanted me. That response meant that he wanted me.

I was ready to give.

Without realizing, I had been moving against him, grinding my hips and feeling that hardness, and that heat through our clothes. I wanted to know more, terrified as I was.

I caught his gaze, beneath the mask, even though he was still wearing it, it was as if we were completely bared before each other. He knew what I wanted, he understood that I was utterly incapable of articulating. He would be gentle, he would lead me in learning what could be, not just inflict this on me and make me want him, always.

He slid his hands under my shirt, pushed my bra up over the rise of my breasts. His hands covered both, gently massaging. See how the flesh moves when you play with it? It's like no other part of the body, these extra lumps you wish weren't there. Isn't it fascinating, how the nipples don't respond when you toy with the whole, but one gentle stroke, even just on the edge, and they become painfully hard, begging for attention.

My hands followed his, and he led me, shaping my fingers the way his had been, letting me feel for myself, the pain of a pinch, but the pleasure, too. It was a paradox. They were aching to be touched, but any touch was both too much and not enough.

I had closed my eyes, and his hands left. Mine stayed. He shifted, gently moving me off of him, and faintly, I was aware of him leaving the bed. I paid little attention. That place between my legs was /on fire/. Desire. I had always known the word, but it had never related to me. Until now, it had been a word, and a silly, little-used one, at that. Now, it encompassed all of me. My entire body was desire.

One hand remained on my breast, squeezing and releasing one stiff nipple. The other slid downward, as if traversing a distance of miles, not inches, down, between my legs, and to that little dip in material through my underwear. They were soaked straight through, I realized as my fingers trailed along the center line. Who knew the body could do that in so short a time?

My middle finger traced that line, up and down, and I opened my mouth, and let out a soft, "Ah."

It practically echoed in the room, and my eyes popped open in shock. Had that really come from me? Had I really done that?

Will sat next to me. I barely registered that he was no longer wearing pants. He took the hem of my shirt, and pulled it up. I wriggled out of it, cold air stinging my burning clesh. He unhooked my bra by reaching behind me, and I smiled faintly, at the feel of our chests brushing, however briefly. Skin on skin, and I wanted so much more.

The shirt, the bra, both found their way to the floor. He kissed one shoulder, worked his way across my front to the other, placing soft, ticklish kisses one by one. He kissed my neck, and I gasped at the lurch my stomach made.

"Sensitive?"

"Yes," I whispered.

He tugged at the waist of my skirt, and I leaned back to lift my hips from the bed so he could pull it off. He tucked my legs over one shoulder and kissed me, pressing me back into the mattress.

I could feel it, that hardness, and the only thing separating us now was my panties, and I was grinding, grinding against him, but I had no leverage the way I was.

"More," I demanded. "Please, I can't..." I couldn't say it, either, what I wanted.

He saved me from having to, however, by kissing me again, and stroking, just once, that line through my panties. My begging, both out loud and by the look I gave him, answered the unspoken question of if it was all right.

"It will probably hurt," he warned gently.

"I know."

"You can say the word, and we shall stop."

"I know." It was not an invitation to stop, I knew, just a reminder that I was not trapped into a promise to finish if I didn't want to.

It was a moot point. I wanted to. Oh, god, how I wanted to.

I pulled my panties off. The one last shred of someone who had heard the phrase "making love" and laughed. The last vestige of a girl so innocent a kiss on the lips seemed forbidden. They were gone, and with them my fear, and my shame, and maybe all my sense, but who cared?

It did hurt, when he pressed into my body the first time. I squeaked, and he was holding me, reassuring me with a soft kiss on the forehead. He was moving, slowly enough that I could get used to the sensation, that this was what it meant to be one with someone. Even with the pain that was not really pain, it was fulfilling, to know that this was it, the most natural thing we could be doing, and the world had not ended, and I had not collapsed and died. The worst case scenario did not come about by a few moments of just letting yourself go and giving in to pleasure.

The pain, too, had given in. I drew him to me, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I was whimpering at his mouth, wet on my neck, because of course he had noticed exactly when and where that gasp had happened. I was lost in sensation, in feeling, in every vile, illogical thing that I professed to hate, but didn't really.

I didn't know how long it went on, I just knew that my whole body was on edge, that our chests were pressed together, slick with sweat, and my hips were lifting off the bed to meet his. My hand was clenching his head, the other tight on his shoulder, and I was gasping. My mouth was dry. It was absolutely disgusting, the wet noise we were making, but I didn't especially care about that either. I understood another word, too. Whole. That, I knew, was only true because of how I felt for him, how I hoped he felt for me. That, too, was all right, that this inner peace might come only in the middle of something so outward and physical.

I loved him, but I didn't need to say it. Surely he knew, that if I did not, I could not have turned myself over to him so completely.

I was going to burn up, I thought, and then a wave washed over me, and my center burned harder for an instant, white hot on the edge of all my senses. I began to cry before I had realized, the relief, and the rush of calm warmth that came with the afterglow of an orgasm was more intense than I thought anything could ever be.

Will held me to him tightly, and a few more thrusts, and he let go, letting me settle back against the bed, panting. He kissed me, and I kissed him back, but not with the anger of earlier today, and not with the shy reservation that would have been there before. I kissed him with a softness that I thought could only come about when you knew the other extreme. Only after you had felt it consume you completely could you appreciate the fire of passion, and the gentle smolder of love.


End file.
